


Lock, Stock, and Two Smoking Arc Reactors

by athletiger, Firelightmystic



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alpha Bucky Barnes, Alpha Steve Rogers, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Mob, Anal Sex, Angst, Attempted Murder, Established Relationship, IRS Agent Steve Rogers, M/M, Mob Tony Stark, Omega Tony Stark, Pay Your Fucking Taxes, Power Dynamics, Smut, Steve Rogers is Not a Virgin, Successful murder, Undercover Agent Bucky Barnes, Violence, What happens in Vegas doesn't always stay in Vegas, interplay of sex and violence, some gore, wanton property damage
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-28
Updated: 2020-08-28
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:35:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26152015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/athletiger/pseuds/athletiger, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Firelightmystic/pseuds/Firelightmystic
Summary: Uncle Sam always collects his dues.They took down Al Capone this way. This time, thanks to a glaring error, IRS Agent Steve Rogers was about to lead a case to take down Obadiah Stane - corrupt businessman, mobster, and head of the Stark crime syndicate. All he needed to do was audit Stane and not mess up the process. What Steve wasn't counting on, though, was getting entangled with Stane's godson, the notorious bad-boy Omega Tony Stark. And hedefinitelywasn't prepared for every assassin in the Lower 48 descending on Sin City to collect the bounty on his head...
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers/Tony Stark, Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Comments: 22
Kudos: 76
Collections: Marvel Trumps Hate 2019





	Lock, Stock, and Two Smoking Arc Reactors

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Leikio](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leikio/gifts).



> Welcome to Alcatraz, aka our new mob boss St(uck)ony story where tig and fire combine our respective knowledge in accounting and insurance, mash it up into pieces, and spit it right back at you, combined with a little dash of a/b/o and a healthy amount of feels and insanity.
> 
> Thanks so much to tree and shalina for beta-ing chapter 1. We appreciate your hard work in looking it over and making it so much better <3.
> 
> This is for Leikio who won us for MTH 2019. Thank you so much for your patience while we hemmed and hawwed for nearly a year writing out chapter 1. Hopefully our next chapters will go a little faster!

Steve slumped in his uncomfortable and too small office chair, staring at the computer screen with complete disinterest. As usual, the office was quiet, but busy, the soft sounds of papers being shuffled and keyboards clacking easily ignored if one chose to. He threw his head back, stretched out his legs, and closed his eyes.

Something stung the back of his head. He snapped back up in his chair in surprise and turned around, preparing to glare the offender into submission. But Bucky, propped up against the cubicle partition, wasn’t so easily cowed by it. “You know that doesn’t work on me at all,” he said instead, smirking.

“What are you doing here?” Steve hissed. “You’re supposed to be at work!”

“I _am_ working!” Bucky replied. But upon Steve’s skeptical look, he amended, “I’m about to head into work. Have an undercover mission.”

Steve sobered. “How long is it this time?” he asked, foregoing his instinctive question of _where are you going?_ because he knew that Bucky would never tell him. They were much too professional to pry into each other’s work, what with Bucky at Homeland Security and Steve at the IRS.

Bucky shrugged. “I don’t know. Three months? Maybe less?” The way his voice sounded resigned, however, meant that it was going to be longer, and Steve didn’t like it one bit.

“You said that your last mission was going to be the _last_ , Bucky,” Steve said. 

“We both know that I would die being a desk jockey at the Bureau.” 

“You nearly _did_ die on your last mission,” Steve frowned, trying to convey how much he hated the idea of Bucky going undercover again to hide his fear.

Bucky’s gaze was soft as he stared into Steve’s eyes, leaning into his space. “I have to do this. You know I do. I’m not going to pass off this assignment for some newbie to get killed in his first week on the job. You know who they wanted to send if they didn’t send me? Maximoff.”

“Wanda’s good with underco—”

But Bucky shook his head. “It’s not Wanda. It’s Pietro. And Pietro wouldn’t last a day—not with this mission. He’s too young and brash.”

Steve sighed and turned away to fiddle with his mouse, clicking it a few times to stop the display from timing out and going to the lockscreen. It wasn’t important—he had enough leeway with his superior that his time logged on wasn’t closely monitored—but it did give him to think. Bucky… wasn’t afraid, just resigned. “I wish you wouldn’t go.”

“For the country. We made a promise, remember?”

“We made a promise to each other, too.”

Bucky glanced down for a moment before looking back up, his eyes steely with determination. “I would say I’m sorry, but I’m not. I made a promise to you, yes, but we both signed ourselves to protect America first.”

Still, he leaned forward into Steve’s space with intent, his body language slightly apologetic.

“We’re at work… I’m at work,” Steve whispered, but he didn’t stop him when Bucky pressed his lips against his, all warm and dry and feeling like home. It felt like a promise that no matter what, Bucky would come home, no matter how long it took him. It was also a desperate kiss of good luck, wherever the mission may be. Steve tried to memorize this kiss, pouring as much of his love into it as he could, for it would be the last one from him for a very long time.

Steve threaded his fingers into Bucky’s hair, holding him as he broke the kiss and nuzzled down to his neck, inhaling the sheer Alpha power of his mate. Although he was still in public, he couldn’t help but lick a line up his Adam’s apple, leaving an imprint of his own scent as a farewell gift.

Their mouths parted slowly as if their lips didn’t want to leave the other’s presence and touch. Steve felt bereft.

“I have to go,” Bucky said finally, regretfully.

“Don’t die, or else I will kill you myself,” Steve half-heartedly threatened, forcing the tears back. He had a gut feeling that something bad was going to happen, but Bucky was right. They made a promise to America, and they weren’t the type to flee from the call.

“See you later, punk!” Bucky called over his shoulder, sounding like his carefree self again.

Steve watched Bucky’s form walk away until he turned around the corner and disappeared. He stared for a while longer, pretending that the echo of Bucky’s image was still there. He was going to miss Bucky; although he was the best at what he did, being an undercover agent, his cases took him months, and on one memorable occasion, over a year to complete. Steve wanted to be selfish and tell him to stop because it was so risky to do time and time again. But he knew Bucky better than he knew himself: Bucky would never stop until something took him out first. It was in his nature, that adrenaline-fueled excitement of pretending to be someone else, stepping closer and closer to death, taunting it.

Still, Steve didn’t have to like it.

After a while, he sighed, finally turning back to his paperwork. He hated this; waiting, staring at the screen, letting the computer do the work of reviewing tax returns of three hundred million Americans. This part of his job was a complete drag, but until he found something, he couldn’t…

The computer pinged and Steve perked up, turning to the monitor. For a second, he looked at it uncomprehendingly, staring at the huge number that was listed on the tax return.

There was only one comma that separated the three digits on either side. It was much more than his yearly salary. He couldn’t say that he _wasn’t_ jealous to see that these tax returns all had more digits to their income than he could ever make as a desk jockey.

Well… he wasn’t a desk jockey, but it was the spirit of it, with the dollar sign in front of six figures. The digits were marked red. Steve clicked on it, eyes roving through the information. This year’s numbers didn’t match up to last year’s numbers; too many discrepancies, too many missing pieces.

Another click and the window switched to a different screen, showing the details of the missing information. The return missed its IRA information.

“Shit,” Steve muttered, laughing under his breath disbelievingly. That was such a major piece of information to be missing, especially when the individual that filed this was just under his sixty-fifth birthday. A few more clicks and he could see the insurance company that reported the information.

And that individual was missing that massive amount of information. More than a million dollars worth, and who knew how much more was hidden away. This needed to be investigated.

Steve stood up from his seat. Insurance claims weren’t his expertise; it was Natasha’s, and the Insurance Department was the floor below. Of course, he could call her desk, but it didn’t hurt him to get some exercise during the boring drone of tax review.

He found her in the elevator with several other IRS employees.

“Steve,” she greeted. 

“Hey,” he replied, stepping through. “I was just looking for you. I need your insurance expertise.”

She groaned. “What’d Rich, Idiotic White Dude do now?”

“What makes you think he’s a rich, idiotic white dude?” Steve asked. He laughed at the stink eye that she gave him.

“One,” she began, holding a finger up as she began to list off her reasons, “most women are too smart to get caught; they actually _pay_ their taxes—most overpay, in fact. Second: it’s usually the rich white men who take insurance policies on the most mundane things. Give me an interesting case, please.”

“Yeah, sorry, I guess this is another boring old case,” Steve said, following Natasha off the elevator. “It’s an IRA case.”

Natasha groaned again. Quickly, she logged into her computer. “What’s the SSN?”

“Social Security Number is…” Steve rattled the number off of the post-it note he had in his hand. There was a beat of silence as Natasha read the file, finger scrolling down as she rapidly skimmed through the file.

“You do know whose tax return this is, right?” Natasha said slowly, still staring at the screen.

“Yeah,” he replied. How could he not? It was listed at the top of the 1040, including his birth date and address. “Name’s Obadiah Stane. Is that supposed to mean anything?”

Natasha pinned her eyes on him, looking at him as if he was an idiot. He probably was, if the name didn’t register for him the way it did for Natasha. “Steve, come on,” Natasha said flatly. “It’s _Obadiah Stane._ Stane of the _Stark Family.”_

Oh.

_Oh._

“You mean the syndicate the government has been trying to put in jail?”

Natasha rolled her eyes. “ _Yes._ All the accusations you can think up against them, they have it. But it all slips off of them like water. They can’t pin anybody on anything.”

Steve stared. “How do you even know anything about it?”

“Carol told me.”

 _“Carol_ told you?” Steve asked, his voice raising. “Isn’t she in the Hoover Building? And she tells you about her cases?”

“Over lunch,” Natasha replied. “Come off of it, Steve; it’s interdepartmental information. We’re all batting on the same side here.”

“And you don’t think, I don’t know, that there’s some clearance that you need to have to get that information?” Steve demanded.

Natasha scoffed. “Steve. The information I have is essentially public information. I didn’t even snoop around for it. Besides, Carol had some insurance questions, and I just consulted a little bit on her case.”

“Oh.” Steve bit his tongue. That made sense.

Natasha looked sly when she glanced back at her computer. “But it is good that we have this breakthrough. It means we can _finally_ get something on Stane to stick, and hopefully we can bring the entire mob down. Besides, there’s surely more missing income than just IRA money. I’m pretty sure he has offshore accounts, too.”

“Does this mean,” Steve was beginning to dread the turn of the conversation, “I have to talk to Director Fury about it?”

“Oh, yes,” she replied with a wicked look in her eye. “With any chance, you’ll be auditing Stane’s _and_ his company’s books. Maybe you’ll get to take credit for bringing down the entire organization. You have an honest to God Capone case—agents would _kill_ for that kind of landmark action.”

Steve stepped back in horror. “But I don’t want the attention. Can’t someone else do the job?”

“It’s gotta be you. You’re the one who found the error.”

“Maybe Smith can take the case?” Steve asked desperately, but Natasha already had him turned around and moving to the elevator. “He’s always eager to crack the next big case.”

“And have him be your superior?” Natasha asked. “Not only would he fuck up one of the largest cases in U.S. history, he would be a terrible supervisor.”

She was right, even though Steve didn’t want to admit it. He liked it well enough, staying put in HQ and looking through boring tax returns; he had enough excitement already when he fought in Afghanistan. It was Bucky who needed the adrenaline fix, not him. Steve was perfectly fine staying behind and being their caretaker.

“Steve,” Natasha said, pushing him into the elevator. He looked at her. All her lightheartedness had evaporated, leaving seriousness behind. “We don’t want the Starks to continue hurting people. Smith would royally fuck this case up, and although you hate the attention, this would be an interesting challenge. You’d love this, if only to find the perpetrator.”

Steve nodded. He pushed the button for the twenty-fifth floor. “You’re right. Thanks, Nat.”

“Good luck.” Natasha stepped back. Then, her eyes twinkled and she grinned. “By the way, once you’re done with the meeting with Fury, there’s a pretty Omega on my floor that just started this week who I think you should introduce yourself to.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “Good _bye,_ Natasha,” he said, letting the doors close. But once he was alone, he couldn’t help but helplessly laugh at her unsubtle attempt of setting him and Bucky up. She’d never quite forgiven them for running off on everyone and getting hitched; she’d had _plans_ and a vested interest in their being the _one_ couple in their circle to do things properly, especially after her machinations for setting their friend Bruce up with sweet and steady Betty Ross had been blown apart by Thor and Jane getting jealous and realizing they had feelings for the moody Beta.

Rather than take the clue provided by the Bruce-Jane-Thor fiasco and just give up her matchmaking hobby, Natasha had instead made it her personal quest to find he and Bucky a decent Omega so they could settle down properly, without pissing off ancient Danish noble families or _four-star generals primed to become the next Secretary of State (Jesus, Bruce)._ The fact that Bucky didn’t try to stop Natasha and even indulged her attempts was baffling, and after the fifth go at setting them up, Steve had confronted his mate for answers. 

“Babe, you’ve got “American Dream” plastered all over your face,” Bucky had replied somberly, twirling a half-empty bottle of Guinness in his hand while Steve cleaned out the fridge one peaceful Tuesday night a few months ago. “I know you love me—never doubted it—but I’m not blind, and my memory is better than you think. You used to talk about it all the time when we were little, y’know? You said you wanted the kids, and the house with the picket fence, _and_ the slobbering dog too, you greedy bastard, and I watch you and know that none of that has changed, even if you’ve kept your trap shut about it ever since we got hitched.”

Steve had frozen guiltily, because he _did_ want that, but it felt like he was somehow being ungrateful to Bucky. He’d opened his mouth to say as much, only to shout indignantly as Bucky hauled off and lobbed a half-eaten roll with unerring accuracy at his head. 

“Don’t even think about getting all morose on me, Stevie! _God_ , you’re so dramatic. Did it not occur to you that _I_ might want that too?” Bucky rolled his eyes at Steve’s gobsmacked expression. “I’m not feeling some all consuming need to settle down and start a family right _now,_ dipshit. But one day? Yeah. I want that. I want to share that with you, so it’s no skin off my back to indulge Nat.”

Steve plucked Bucky’s Guinness out of his hand and killed it. “You could’ve said something earlier, Buck.”

Bucky swatted at Steve fondly. “Pot, kettle. Anyway, if nothing else, a bit of a flirt here and there with a cute O’ is fun, and maybe if I’m lucky, the exposure will help you stop being so fuckin’ awkward around them. You’ll fucking scare our Omega off before we even get a decent shot to lock them down.”

Steve had thrown a carton of expired Chinese food at him in retaliation. 

Natasha’s latest attempt put him in enough of a good mood as he went up to see Director Fury, but once he stopped in his office, the nervousness began to arise again. He swallowed, then knocked.

“Come in,” came the muffled reply, and Steve slipped into the office. Fury was ignoring him, focused on the paper in front of him, pen scratching away. He waited silently until Fury looked up.

“Well?” Fury prompted when Steve dithered too long.

His cheeks heated in embarrassment. “Sorry, sir. It’s just that… I have Obadiah Stane’s tax return, and he’s missing a lot of income that should have been reported. I’ve been told to tell you about this because I need to audit his files.”

Truth be told, he still hoped that Fury wouldn’t sign off on this. He just wanted to go home and wallow and roll around in Bucky’s scent while he was gone. But it seemed like it wasn’t going to happen—Director Fury was already nodding in understanding. “Okay, pack your bags. I’ve got to send this up to the DOJ.”

Steve felt an overwhelming urge to sigh and he barely held it back. Instead, he dipped his head slightly in acknowledgement. “Thank you, sir.”

“I don’t suppose I have to tell you this, but this case is important; not only to us, but to the rest of the departments, too,” Fury said, faintly echoing Natasha’s words. “So don’t mess this up. We probably only have this one chance to put him behind bars.”

“Yes, sir.”

As Steve turned to leave, Fury called out to him, his voice faintly amused. “Good luck, Rogers. Have fun in Vegas.”

Vegas? He was going to Vegas? The lone thought rotated in his mind as he departed —until he recalled that Obadiah Stane’s return had listed a Las Vegas address. Now that he remembered, Steve didn’t like the idea one bit.

He liked D.C. well enough. He liked his bar. He most especially loved Brooklyn, and mostly his mate. He absolutely did not like business trips all that much because it took away the fun of everything. He wouldn’t be able to sightsee or visit nice places. And if he went to Las Vegas, it most certainly wouldn’t be for the gambling or the strippers. He would get to sit behind yet another desk looking through boring numbers and workpapers.

He’d rather do that behind his desk _here_. It lowered the expectations of the cities he went to. It was yet another thing about the rich that Steve was jealous of: they got to do whatever they wanted, to travel wherever they pleased, to enjoy life, while Steve was stuck behind a desk, looking at the world behind blank, white walls.

There was also the fact that he inadvertently opened a whole can of worms by stumbling onto Obadiah Stane’s tax return. He would have to report to no less than five agencies about his progress and he hated the prospect of it. They wouldn’t let him work in peace—they would want immediate results. Steve grimaced at the thought.

But what Fury commanded, Steve would have to do. So, Vegas it was, because one Obadiah Stane couldn’t list his damn address in D.C., or even New York. He listed his fucking address as one L-A-S space V-E-G-A-S. Grouchily, Steve picked up his work bag.

“Vegas, here I come,” Steve muttered flatly.

His heart panged in the memories of before, though. Because, the last time he was in Vegas, he married Bucky in a shotgun wedding, both of them roaring drunk and holding each other up. In his very hazy memory of that night, they exchanged Ring Pops under the night of the full moon. When they woke up hungover the next morning, the marriage certificate sat innocently on the desk of the shitty motel room they stayed in—but Steve never regretted one moment from that night. 

_Steve stared at his Bucky’s sleeping face fondly, feeling like his world was nearly complete beside his Alpha mate, and cuddled closer to him._

_“What’cha thinkin' about?” Bucky mumbled under his breath, eyes still closed._

_“Just the fact that we need to actually get two rings.”_

_“What, like we can’t keep the Ring Pops?” But Steve could hear the silent snicker in his voice._

_Steve shoved at his shoulder, but he was laughing all the same. “They’re going to kill us for doing a shotgun wedding without them witnessing.”_

_“Who cares? We can have the formal wedding some other time when they’re back for leave. It’s just you and me right now, and that’s the way I like it.” Finally Bucky opened his eyes and smirked, dragging Steve down atop of him. He leaned up slightly to press a long kiss to Steve’s lips. He tasted like morning breath, but Steve was too happy to care. His husband._

_“Only thing missing is our Omega,” Steve said, pulling away slightly. “I thought we were going to wait for them before we got married.”_

_“But we’re married now,” Bucky replied softly. “I can’t say I regret that.”_

_“I don’t either,” Steve admitted. “It’s just that… I was hoping that we all could get married at the same time.”_

_“I know that was your dream. But while we may wait a lifetime for our Omega, we can have each other now.” Bucky pulled Steve down for another long kiss, his hands roving over Steve’s naked skin. Steve’s cock jerked in interest under Bucky’s ministrations, and he could feel Bucky was just as interested as he was. Bucky growled, “My mate.”_

Steve wished that Bucky was here now, not undercover. He missed him already. But they both had a job to do, and Steve pushed the thought out of his mind.

—

It wasn't supposed to be this difficult; Obadiah Stane was supposed to be in Vegas, doing whatever it was corrupt mobster tax evaders did, and Steve was supposed to be able to track the man down and simply handle business.

Instead, he was stuck walking around The Excelsior cobbling together some sort of backup plan because Stane had disappeared early from the Apogee Award presentations. The concierge had been decent enough—or at least respectful enough of his ID—to let him know the only person with any sort of knowledge of Stane's comings and goings was his godson, _who hadn't even bothered to show up to his own award ceremony_.

But at least _he_ would be easy enough to find, since by all accounts Stane's godson was "on a break from Malibu" and busy with his casino. 

What kind of fast life, Steve wondered, did someone have to lead to get so bored with the celebrity of Malibu that they slowed it down by retreating to _Vegas_?

An epically fast one, if your name was Anthony Edward Stark.

And what a life: _People Magazine_ ’s Sexiest Man Alive for three separate years; permanent fixture in the top five of _Cosmopolitan_ ’s Top 50 Bachelors; even _O! Weekly_ ’s article on the Sex Degrees of Tony Stark had read halfway between awe and seething jealousy. There might have been something that could be taken as somewhat shame-adjacent, except not a single one of the Omegas running that trash had ever known a single iota of shame a day in their life, and Tony Stark was their glorious king: proud, untamed, and utterly unrepentant. 

From word of mouth—nigh onto legends, in some cases—Steve had half expected to find Tony lounging like a hedonistic god in the center of a mass of booze, drugs, and writhing flesh, ruling the sordid Vegas expanse from his throne of perpetual indulgence. 

He wasn’t far off his mark, either way. 

In all of the movies and TV shows he’d seen, Omegas didn’t really gamble, and _certainly_ didn't own casinos; they stuck to slot machines or maybe the blackjack tables for a bit of edgier fun, normally as pretty—and ultimately boring—accessories on the arms of the Alpha and Beta power players. 

However, most Omegas weren’t Stark, oh no. Steve rather suspected Tony would demolish anyone who tried to relegate him to such a role. He was posted up at the largest craps table—clearly ruled it, in fact. A crowd of well-dressed people surrounded him, cheering him on and chattering mindlessly like noisy geese around him. _They_ were the useless ones now, all but swarming a beacon of fame and wealth as if some would rub off on them if they were exposed long enough. 

An absolutely stunning pair of brunette twins clothed in scandalously short dresses were hanging off Stark’s sides, one clad in soft, shimmering gold, the other in a tastefully muted bronze. Diamonds sparkled under the casino lights, reflecting off their ears and necks and wrists. They complemented each other—and Stark as well—splashes of warm color against the dark maroon shirt he’d unbuttoned partially. The tie was looped around the right twin’s neck while the twin on the left was slowly inching her hand down the expanse of Stark’s tanned skin, toying with the next button on his shirt. 

Not to be outdone, the twin on the right traced her finger along the sharp lines of Stark’s distinctive anchor beard and disconnected mustache combo, then nuzzled momentarily against his neck, close to—maybe even actually _against_ —Stark’s scent-gland. 

Steve couldn’t help but wonder what she smelled like: something delicate and light, like the hint of sweet flowers, a brief respite in the midst of a press of overwhelming alpha pheromones? Did her sister match that scent—complement it, like with their dresses, similar but still unique? 

What did Stark scent of? 

God, what a thought. 

It wasn’t proper, to blatantly speculate on a person’s scent, and he could almost hear his mother’s lectures as he indulged. Tony flew in the face of every expectation for an Omega, which was hot as hell all on its own—and he’d be scented to match. Something spicy, not overwhelming, but definitely sharp, and warm, something that didn’t linger but flashed through the senses, the body, from top to bottom, like the curl of warmth after sipping spiced rum at Christmas. 

Christmas...

December! 

It clicked suddenly!

December! 

Maxim! 

_The twins from Maxim’s December cover._

A sexy interlude—and there was no doubt what Stark and those twins were headed towards—now _that_ was the stuff fantasies were made of. 

The lucky sonofabitch. 

A waiter deftly wound his way through the crowd with a small tray containing a neatly poured double of amber liquid that he held out in front of Stark, who wiggled the woman in his left arm around until he could grab at it and bring it up to his lips for a sip. Around him, cell phone cameras flashed and a rather enterprising young woman in a vibrant red dress that was more scraps than actual garment attempted to insinuate herself into Stark’s huddle of sexiness, only to be ruthlessly blocked by the twin on the right. 

How Stark put up with it, he’d never know. 

Steve shook his head in bemusement as Stark took the glass award shoved into his hand by the uniformed man, who cut through the throng like a hot knife through butter and posted up behind the Omega. Stark seemed gleeful at his appearance and gamely patted the darker man’s cheek, seemingly unfazed as his friend appeared to be frustratedly lecturing him. Stark laughed when his friend shoved his shoulder good-naturedly (if tinged with a bit of reproach) and pressed a kiss to the side of the man’s jaw and grinned. Steve felt his eyebrows shoot up as he took in the rank: _a full-bird Colonel_. Lord Almighty, even Stark’s _friends_ were highly placed. 

It made sense, in a way; Stark _would_ run in powerful circles, but even so… Steve shuddered internally as flashbacks of basic training and missions and Colonel Phillips’ eternal biting commentary of Steve’s every action suddenly rose to the surface. 

He reflexively checked his gig line and straightened his posture, wandering closer towards Stark’s table and trying to make his way through the crowd without resorting to bodily elbowing someone aside. 

“—Yeah, it’s okay.”

It really wasn’t, Steve guessed, given the sarcasm deep in the colonel’s smooth voice.

“Will you look at that? That’s, uh, that’s something else. I don’t have any of _those_ floating around.” Stark tossed the award into the arms of a nearby man in a suit—no doubt some sort of bodyguard—and turned back around to let his hands slip from around the twins’ waists and shove a pile of chips forward on the table. “I’m gonna let it ride!”

“Tony, man, would you—”

“Later, Platypus.” 

Tony turned to the twin at his left side, who was eyeing up the colonel speculatively, and, Steve suspected, gauging the possibility of the budding threesome finding room for juuust one more. 

“That’s Rhodey, and my Platypus is the best, if you can claw him out of that uniform.” 

Tony held up his hand of dice in front of the twin on the right, shaking the dice around in it playfully. 

“Gimme a hand, would you? Show me a little somethin’ somethin’...” 

She leaned forward, licking her glossed lips seductively before gently blowing the dice in Stark’s hand. Her sister, having apparently made up her mind, unnecessarily braced herself on the colonel’s pecs, and winked at him before turning to also blow the dice with a wicked smirk.

The. Lucky. SOB. 

“Okay, you too.” Stark turned towards his beleaguered friend, who was fending off a case of wandering hands from the twins, both of whom were clearly onboard with the colonel joining their fun. The colonel gently swatted their hands away from his tie. 

“I don’t blow on men’s dice.” 

“C’mon, Honey Bear.” 

“I don’t blow on men’s dice!” The colonel smacked away Stark’s hand, which was inching closer and closer to his face, and sighed as the twin in bronze managed to snag his tie during the brief squabble. 

Stark gave a celebratory hoot as the pair of translucent amber dice were knocked out of his hand, and sighed as he crapped out on two. 

“That’s what happens,” Rhodey murmured, almost unrepentant—and perhaps even slightly gleeful—at the loss. Or maybe it was the pair of twins now nuzzling at _his_ neck. 

Not to be deterred, Tony shrugged agreeably as he wrapped his arms back around the twin in gold, who huddled in as close as possible and laughed huskily. “Worse things have happened. I think we’re going to be fine.” 

Tony was shifting away from the table, the crowd parting around the group of four, so Steve made his move. 

“Special Agent Steven Rogers. May we speak, Mr. Stark?”

Tony sighed and looked at the twins pawing over him while the colonel readjusted his mess dress, before looking at Steve incredulously. “ _Now?”_

“I’m afraid that this can’t wait,” Steve replied, undeterred by the glare. He was not intimidated by an Omega shorter than him. He _wasn’t._ He had fought bigger Alphas when he was smaller than Tony, so perhaps he actually found it kind of… _cute_ that Tony was straightening his back and puffing his chest in an attempt to look bigger than Steve.

He wasn’t going to tell Tony that, though.

Tony groaned, tossing his head back in annoyance, but all Steve could do was stare at the long expanse of his neck. It looked absolutely delectable, skin so smooth and unmarked, and Steve couldn’t help but feel a surge of possessiveness rising deep within himself to mark it and claim him. “Ugh, _fine._ If the Big Bad Fed wishes, I guess it shall be commanded.” He turned to Colonel Rhodes. “Take care of Anna and Bella for me, will you? They’re amazing girls. Don’t wanna scare them off with your grumpiness.”

“That’s not even their names,” Rhodes said, rolling his eyes. He waved him away. “Go see what Special Agent Rogers wants.” 

“I’m thinking my ass,” Tony replied, turning around to stare at Steve and leering at him. It took all of Steve’s willpower to stop himself from reaching out and just… taking. 

He had better manners than that. His ma taught him better.

It was more than just looks that had Steve hung up on him, it was the coy little smile that was on his face, one that reminded him of...it reminded him of Bucky.

Steve needed to push the thought out of his mind - he was here for work, not for pleasure. He shouldn’t let an Omega convince him otherwise.

“No, just a few questions for you, Mr. Stark,” Steve said.

Tony grimaced. “Please, don’t ‘Mr. Stark’ me. It reminds me of Howard, and I’m not _nearly_ that old to be a Mister. Tony, please. And, let me guess, you’re what? DoD, Homeland Security, FBI? Pretty boy like you with all that muscle underneath your suit—I can tell you’re fucking ripped, you barely fit the suit you’re wearing, sweetheart—means that you’re not one of those old cronies that dear old Dad used to talk to.”

In the time it took for Tony to mouth that, he’d been moving steadily and steadily closer to a stock-still Steve until they were merely inches away from each other. Steve was entranced by those blue-brown orbs glittering under the casino lights. The spiced rum scent settled over him like a nostalgic breeze, and Steve could barely _think._

“I asked you a question, gorgeous,” Tony prodded.

Steve couldn’t stop himself from blushing. “I’m IRS, actually,” Steve muttered. He wanted to take a step back, but it was too hard not to be drawn into Tony.

Tony smelled far more enticing than Steve could bring himself to rally against, and his lower brain began to jostle for control. Steve hadn’t prepared for this; Alphas and Betas he could ignore—rarely even _noticed_ because Bucky was already his and Steve was loyal—but Omegas? He was allowed to notice, allowed to pursue if he felt like they would be a good match for Bucky too, but they always left him awkwardly flustered, or he came on too hard, or too cautious. Bucky often teased that Steve was going to either scare their Omega off the day they found them or epically screw it up, and Steve had to admit that his mate wasn’t far off the mark. 

Tony was obviously interested, and Steve was definitely attracted—feisty brunettes just _did it_ for him—and he was Omega too, with those heterochromic eyes, shades of blue and brown mingled to startling effect. Bucky would _murder_ Steve if he passed up a chance with the likes of Tony Stark, but he’d never get the chance because Steve would throw himself off a bridge first. He’d never wanted so hard so suddenly, and the part of him that wasn’t going absolutely _haywire_ with attraction to Stark was trying to unravel just _why_ he was so affected and failing miserably. 

This had gone from zero to sixty and all out of control in the matter of moments, and he just couldn’t figure out how or why. He just wanted. 

And with the way Tony was smirking up at him, it seemed as if he knew how much his entire presence was affecting Steve. “IRS, huh? Coming to Vegas for some fun then?” Steve didn’t know how Tony could draw even closer, but there he was, nearly nose to nose, invading Steve’s sense of smell completely. “I’m fun. Ask anyone around here, they know how much fun I am. How ‘bout we get to know each other first, and then you can ask me twenty questions.” 

Tony’s fingers slipped into Steve’s palm, warm and heady, and Steve let himself be dragged into the elevator.

—

There were beds, and then there were _beds._ Steve barely had a moment to appreciate the sheer _extravagance_ of Stark’s room before the Omega was on top of him, knocking him flat on his back. There weren’t any springs in the mattress, just thick memory foam that stopped him from bouncing, and cool silk sheets that shifted under their combined weight, luxuriously soft and so fine they were almost slippery. It wasn’t his most graceful moment when he rolled so that he was on top and nearly lost his purchase and squashed Tony, but he recovered just in time to _not_ utterly humiliate himself. 

Tony’s breathy laugh hitched into a moan when Steve took the opportunity to grind against him, and he preened at the murmured _“_ holy shit.” Steve wasn’t completely unaware; he knew he was big—Bucky certainly let him know that much plenty of times—and he couldn’t deny that most people’s eyes tended to stray to his lower regions and stay stuck. 

It was nice to be appreciated, though, and there was a bit of carnal smugness to be savored in the way Tony tried to drag him down for more with a demanding little grunt. “Yeah, you might want to let me get out of my pants first.”

Tony scoffed as he greedily reached for his belt and scrabbled at the buckle. “Why the fuck are you even wearing clothes, Rogers? This is a real disservice to humanity, you ought to be—” Tony whined as he got the belt loose and snaked his hands into Steve’s boxers. “ _Fuck,_ you should be naked 24/7.”

Steve jolted as Tony pumped his cock once, twice, again, small bursts of pleasure rushing through him as Tony took the opportunity to work a clever hand up and down his shaft for a moment before releasing him and _yanking_ his boxers down. 

There was no restraining the guttural moan that broke out of him at Tony’s blatant enthusiasm—no matter the designation, Steve liked a lover that knew what they wanted in bed and _went for it_ —and he dropped his face down into the crook of Tony’s neck, nibbling at the sensitive patch of skin. Tony’s breath hitched and he rocked up and against Steve’s body, settling into a steady grind as Steve continued to press tiny, nibbling kisses up his neck until he reached the small gland where Tony’s pheromones were the thickest. 

Normally, the pheromones a person produced were mild—barely tangible notes like spicy or dark or light—but once the blood pumped and hormones surged, the scent grew much more noticeable. Steve breathed in deep and, well, he’d always had a keen sense of smell, especially after his stint in the military, and he’d never been so glad for it. Tony smelled… _glorious._ There was vanilla musk above a hint of something almost metallic, like hot iron, blended in with the fading afternotes of Tony’s cologne, and a rich flash of what Steve could’ve sworn was tobacco. 

Tony hissed out a garbled complaint as he writhed underneath his bulk. Steve wasn’t sure if Tony was trying to squirm right out of his own clothes or if he was just trying to rut against him and work off some of the edge. Either way, Steve figured it was high time clothing exited the picture, and they pawed and yanked at each other, flinging away shirts, ties, belts, anything they could get their hands on until—

_Holy. Shit._

Steve pulled back from Tony, mouth going dry as a low, _wrecked_ sound punched out of his chest. 

When he’d first spotted Stark, it’d been obvious that he was busy orchestrating a good time for the night, but he’d also apparently dressed for the occasion. 

For a given value of _dressed_. 

Truly, red was his color. Underneath the suit, Tony was wearing a dark crimson and black rose-patterned basque, the boning highlighting his surprisingly toned abs while giving a slight curve to his waist. An iridescent gold sheen highlighted the silk fabric, and a matching crimson garter belt connected to ornate floral net stockings that rested against a perfect set of equally toned legs. It made for a striking image, set against the rumpled black silk sheets, and Steve did his best to commit it to memory, because _God,_ what a sight. 

Steve had owned posters of famous pin-up models that couldn’t even _begin_ to hold a candle to Tony.

Tony was _gorgeous_ , magnificently sexy, and while part of Steve wanted nothing more than to rip the scraps of fabric off and have his way with him, his inner artist railed at ruining any bit of the amazing picture Tony presented. Tony looked like he’d been ripped out of one of the magazine centerfolds that he and Bucky used to have tucked away in the barracks when they were back in the army, and dammit, he might as well go for broke while he was busy getting a fantasy fulfilled. 

Steve all but flung himself back onto Tony, pinning his hands down and slanting his lips over Tony’s mouth, drinking in his startled gasp and soft purrs of desire as he took and took and _took._ The tendons in Tony’s wrist flexed beneath his tight grip, and Steve lessened his hold, suddenly worried that he’d been too forceful, but all Tony did was bury his hands deep into Steve’s hair, the blunted tips of his nails grazing his scalp. The soft scratches sent buzzes of pleasure down Steve’s back and he groaned into Tony’s mouth, tongue sweeping inside to trace over one of the Omega’s pointed canines before curling around his tongue as the kiss turned heated and greedy. 

Steve’s hand scraped down Tony’s sides until they tangled in the delicate bands of the black and crimson thong—God, what a set of lingerie—and Tony broke the kiss with a needy whine and pushed at Steve’s head until he twigged onto the wordless demand and began to work his way down Tony’s body; pressing soft kisses into the ridges of his collarbone, over the cool satin planes of the basque, down, down over flushed and heated skin until he was nuzzling over Tony’s groin, the silk damp over his hard cock, stained with slick and pre-come. 

Steve inhaled, basking in the scent of sex and pheremones, and darted his tongue out to press against the outline of Tony’s shaft. Tony bucked up against Steve’s mouth with a shuddering moan, and Steve took mercy, sliding the flimsy scrap of fabric down until Tony was able to kick out of it, and that too was tossed aside before Steve returned his attention back to Tony’s legs and his suddenly bared erection. 

He gently caressed Tony’s leg, indulging in the glide of the soft lace netting under his palms as he worked his way back up, and then, with absolutely no warning, took Tony’s cock into his mouth. Tony jolted and swore under his breath, those clever hands dropping back onto Steve’s head, tangling in his hair as Steve put his tongue to work, licking and twining around his length as he bobbed his head up and down, fucking his mouth on Tony’s cock, drinking in the heady scent of sex and Omega pheromones. 

Tony tasted like salt and bitterness, a slight hint of that metallic undertone that mixed in with his natural scent, and Steve reveled in it, using his tongue to tease and stroke and lick around Tony’s leaking cock, hollowing his cheeks to add more suction. 

He was rewarded with a wild moan and a full-body shudder. He took Tony deeper, swallowing him all the way down to the root. Tony _wailed,_ and it was honestly a miracle that Steve pulled off in time to avoid getting smashed in the face with Tony’s knee as he jolted recklessly.

“Careful, honey.” Steve hooked his arm under Tony’s right leg, rubbing the tips of his fingers over the netting of the stockings as he pulled Tony’s leg out to the side in order to avoid a repeat of their near-collision. If it also gave him better access to Tony’s cock? Well and good. 

“Not…” Tony keened and rocked up into Steve’s mouth as Steve descended back on his cock. “Not your _honey._ ”

Steve let out an amused huff at Tony’s indignant protest at the endearment and was rewarded with another one of those frankly gorgeous moans. 

He let himself sink into the task, bobbing his head up and down as he held Tony still as best he could; he let the loud moans and breathy pants wash over him, accented only by the wet noises of his mouth and the soft rustle of the sheets as Tony clawed at them, tangling his fingers in the slippery material. 

“Close, _close, Steve, please I’m so close—_ ”

Tony let out a frustrated howl as Steve drew back before he could topple over the edge. 

Steve crawled back up Tony’s body and dropped a kiss on his sweat-dampened forehead. 

The brown-blue eyes glared up at him. “To hell with that, _fuck me, dammit!_ ” Tony tried to wriggle his leg free, straining upwards in order to rub himself against Steve’s cock, heavy and wet and so very neglected during the night’s proceedings. 

“Patience, sugar.”

“Not your sugar, either.”

Steve couldn’t fight the smirk that tugged at his lips at Tony’s wasp-ish tone. “Not my sugar, not my honey, but you taste like heaven and sound sweet as sin. You’re killing me, Omega.”

“If you’re that weak, it’s honestly doing the gene pool a favor. It _is_ a shame those muscles won’t be carried on, Dorito.” Tony reached out to trace the lines of his abs. It should've tickled, but it really only made the fire in his core burn hotter for the Omega.

Steve arched a brow. “Bold talk from an Omega who’s panting under me, thirsty for more.” 

Tony’s smirk was full of carnal promise. “I don’t _need_ to be on top to put a smug as shit Alpha like you back in your place.”

Steve snorted softly, ducking down to lick a long strip up Tony’s throat. He lapped up the drops of sweat beginning to form and he groaned at the intoxicating taste. With a gentle nip, he said, “Looks to me like I’m _already_ in my place.”

“You’re going to regret that comment when you’re begging me to let you finally pop your knot.”

“Pretty sure the one begging is going to be you, precious.” Steve pulled back to see Tony’s eyes narrowed up at him and he smirked. 

Tony scowled and fire snapped into his gaze. Steve barely had a moment to appreciate the expression before the brunet suddenly aimed a surprisingly strong blow into his solar plexus, leaving him momentarily off balance as he let out a startled gasp. 

“How’s _that_ for precious?” Tony snarked, flipping them over with one smooth motion and pinning Steve under him. Tony leaned over him, hands placed on either side of his head, and gave a tongue-in-cheek smile.

Steve sucked in air and took a moment to reorient himself, his lips quirking into a rueful laugh. “You’re a vindictive thing, aren’t you?”

“Scared?”

Steve scoffed, leaning up to press another kiss to the already red-bitten lips of the Omega. “Hardly. ‘S kinda hot, though.” While Tony was distracted by Steve thrusting his tongue into his mouth, Steve took the advantage to flip them back over and spread Tony’s legs.

He wasn’t one of those traditional Alphas who wanted his Omega under him always, but there was some sweet victory hearing Tony’s wanton gasp when they switched back to their original position. Unprompted, Tony spread his legs even wider, baring himself to Steve unashamedly. His cock was red and leaking pre-come all over his stomach, his balls drawn up tightly. He was flushed, but he still had enough fire to say, “Hot would be you finally getting to work, _Agent Rogers.”_

Aaaaaand that was a thing he didn’t know he had. He’d been called Agent Rogers almost every day for the last few years, and it had never rung his bell before—not like it had just now, tumbling out of Tony’s mouth and sending a twinge of smug delight through him. 

Steve let out a pleased little grunt and reached for the foil package Tony shoved into his hand, ignoring his eye-roll and muttered, “Predictable.”

Steve shivered as Tony wrapped his hand around his cock, gripping and stroking over his rigid length to make sure the condom fit properly, part of him delighted by the proprietary way Tony examined him, as if he existed only for Tony’s carnal amusement, which… well, hell, that wasn’t exactly a bad gig, it seemed like. 

Tony nodded to himself, then squirmed this way and that, making himself comfortable in the tangle of sheets and scattered pillows. “Mmm… Okay, let’s do this.”

“So demanding.” 

“I can kick you out and go find the December tw—” Tony broke off and let out a low moan as Steve lined himself up and nudged himself past the tight ring of Tony’s opening. He was barely inside, and it was hot and wet and _snug._ Even with Tony’s slick easing the passage, the Omega’s inner muscles were so tight around his head that he was suddenly worried about doing damage. 

“Am I—am I too big for you?”

Tony laughed wildly, his body trembling as he adjusted to Steve’s intrusion. “Your Alpha ego would _love_ that, oh my _God—”_ Tony broke off and moaned as Steve rolled his eyes and pressed in another inch. “ _Fuck,_ oh, fuck, okay, _shit, you’re big._ ” Tony drew in a lungful of air and released it. “Okay, big guy, do not jab that baseball bat you call a dick into me in one go, and we’ll be okay.”

Such a mouthy Omega. 

Steve secretly loved it—even if he’d never admit as much to _this_ particular man because Tony Stark obviously was the sort to forgo a mile and just take the whole damn four-lane interstate highway when given an inch—and grinned as he rolled his hips, nudging himself forward a bit more.

Tony shuddered and dug the blunt tip of his nails into Steve’s back. “That’s good, do that again.”

Steve obliged, withdrawing a bit and rocking forward into Tony a bit deeper, then withdrew and did it again, and again, listening for any sound of distress between Tony’s gasps and whimpers as he found his rhythm and smoothly rocked back and forth over the Omega, methodically fucking him open.

Steve was patient—a herculean task if ever there was one because Tony felt so very good and he wanted to move, dammit—and let Tony adjust to his intrusion as he shifted this way and that in tiny increments, making himself comfortable inside the Omega. On one such move he pressed against a firm gland and Tony spasmed and let out a surprised cry as his fingers dug deeper into his skin and his toes curled, the netting of his stockings gently abrading Steve’s hips as he twitched and panted for breath. 

A slow, evil grin curled Steve’s lips as he met Tony’s gaze, dawning apprehension widening his pretty eyes. Omegas were prone to heterochromia, and it was the most blatantly Omega-like thing about Tony—his eyes, the cool blue irises ringed with honey brown. Tony met Steve’s gaze for a moment then blinked, ridiculously long lashes shuttering his expression. Steve leaned down and dropped a teasing kiss on the tip of Tony’s nose, just to watch the indignation flare back up in his expression. 

Tony had a comeback on the tip of his tongue, Steve could tell, but the first syllable crashed and burned as Steve withdrew and snapped back in, aiming for that same spot. He hit it, judging from Tony’s garbled moan and the rush of slick, and that was his cue. 

Steve gave reign to his instincts and _moved,_ pumping in and out of Tony, greedily chasing his pleasure as Tony moaned and whined and shuddered under him. Downright _filthy_ pleas to fuck him, to _break him_ , dropped from Tony’s lips like unholy prayers as he writhed underneath Steve, the silk sheets providing no kind of traction as Steve moved in him with deep, steady strokes. 

Tony was _glorious,_ and Steve was going to be absolutely ruined for other Omegas. Tony just fit so perfectly around him, took him so deeply and enthusiastically, rocked into his every thrust with such gusto he was practically fucking himself on Steve’s cock as his voice rose in a frantic crescendo until the only thing audible over the wet slap of their flesh was Tony’s cries. The sharp, punched out noises intensified with Steve’s thrusting until it seemed to ring around the room. 

“Gonna come,” Steve hissed out, feeling the pleasure sharpen and coil up tighter inside him, blissful heat boiling up in his veins and singing electric through his body into his cock. Tony let out an overought whine, clenching up around his cock tight enough that Steve had to slow his strokes again. 

“No, no, no, not yet, I’m— _unf—_ I’m so close, just a little more…” Tony scrabbled at Steve, hands running up and down his back as he bucked up against Steve, desperately chasing his own orgasm. Steve matched his thrust, snapping forward with enough force he felt the massive bed rock. 

“Just a little more—just a little more, fuck, I’ll even say please, just—”

“I can’t hold it, come on my knot, you can—”

“Fake news, lies, _ridiculous Alpha sex myths_ —” Tony _screamed_ as Steve quickened his thrusts, and _fuck_ , the last thing he wanted to do was pull out of the mouthy Omega, but pulling out meant rocking back inside of that welcoming, slick heat, deeper and harder, and more, more, _more, and—_ OW!

Steve let out an offended yelp, jarred out of his looming climax by the burst of pain from his nipple. 

“Tony, _what the fuck?!_ ”

“You were about to come, and I’m not finished yet.”

Steve stared down at the _miserable brat_ in disbelief. He could hear Bucky _howling_ with laughter at him in his mind’s eye, and he privately resolved that the other Alpha was _never_ going to hear about this part of events. His offense didn’t last long because Tony shimmied this way and that, getting himself comfortable on his cock before he buried his hands in Steve’s hair again, tangling his fingers in the blond strands and _pulling_ until Steve yelped again. 

“Keep. _Going.”_

Steve snarled wordlessly and snapped his hips forward, the part of him that wasn’t _completely fucking turned on even more_ _than before_ utterly indignant. Tony visibly thrilled at the roughness, and tugged at Steve’s hair again, urging him on. “Like that, _yes.”_

Steve was driven into a new rhythm, one that was slower and rougher that soon had him grunting raggedly as he fucked in and out of Tony, pounding into the smaller man’s heat like a sledgehammer’s blow, Tony gasping breathy praises beneath him as he met every thrust full on and _ground into it_ , shaking underneath him.

Steve continued the carnal dance, muscles flexing under Tony’s touch as the Omega’s hands slipped from his hair, slid down his arms and back down to the sheets, gripping them as he whined frantically, working himself harder and harder on Steve’s cock. It was clear that whatever peak Tony dangled on, however, he wasn’t quite able to tip over the edge. 

“Hold on, honey, I’ll get you there.” 

Steve rolled Tony over onto his knees, pressing a kiss on the smooth plane of his back before taking one of Tony’ hands in his own and pinning it above Tony’s head. He nudged Tony’s knees further apart so that the Omega was spread wide for him, slick and precome dripping out of his hole onto the sheets, and lined up his cock again. “What do we say, Omega?”

“ _Fuck me now or get out_!” 

Steve let out a bark of laughter—had no hope of containing it, really—and slammed deep into Tony, grinning at the pleasured moan that erupted from deep in his chest, loud and obscene and so very, very sublime. “Is that what you wanted?”

Steve ran his hand over the dip in Tony’s waist, down over that fantastic ass to rest low on his upper thighs, fingers toying once again with the netting of his stockings. Tony started to speak and Steve slammed in again, winning yet another one of those gorgeous moans and a broken plea for more that went straight to his cock. Slow and deep and rough, that’s what Tony liked, and Steve fucked him like it was his only mission in life, stuffing Tony full and withdrawing, only to drive back in even harder against his sweet spot until Tony was shuddering under him, at a loss for words and reduced to wet panting and fevered moans.

Steve sniffed as he worked into Tony, and almost came despite his best efforts. Tony was close—the strength of his pheromones was enough to attest to that, but God, the _smell._ Tony didn’t just scent nicely—this close, this deep inside and worked up, the scent had taken on stronger dimensions, and it was a perfect complement to Steve’s own woodsy musk, would’ve accented just right off of Bucky’s own chilled, airy scent. 

_Fuck._

Steve’s strokes grew more fluid as his orgasm began to build again, all the more intense for having been thwarted the first time, and Steve reached his free hand out to grasp Tony’s cock, dripping wet and burning hot. Tony did scream then, a half-sobbing cry that turned sharp as Steve stroked him off in time with his thrusts. Steve buried his nose—sharper than most even for an Alpha—in the curve of Tony’s neck, right against his bonding gland because he wanted to— _needed—_ to smell more _,_ and every broken moan Steve fucked out of the panting Omega was accompanied by a hint of smoky vanilla and spice, and there was no denying it. 

_Tony Stark was **his**._ Steve felt it deep and sure on a primal level, and while it was far too soon to bond the Omega to him, Steve was for damn sure going to leave the thought on Tony’s mind. He put his back into it, grinding deep, deeper, rocking against Tony’s prostate as he licked Tony’s bonding gland, tasted sweat and flushed skin.

Tony seized up, freezing on a stuttering inhale, and then _shattered,_ wailing his release as he shook apart on Steve’s cock, writhing under him as he came, and came, and _kept_ _coming._

Steve fucked him through it, trapping Tony’s body under his larger mass as he chased his own release. Tony’s orgasmic cries were a goad that had him moving in the Omega faster now until he was almost pistoning in and out. Tony cried out one last time and clenched tight on Steve’s cock, and it was the last bit needed to send him hurtling over the edge as he buried himself as deep as possible inside of the Omega and came, his cock pulsing as he emptied himself into the condom, his knot expanding and sealing them together. 

Steve let his forehead rest on Tony’s back, slowly stroking over the Omega’s twitching cock as their orgasms waned until Tony let out a final, soft whimper and collapsed flat against the bed. There was no help for it, so Steve slowly lowered himself until he was laying flush on top of the Omega and used the last of his strength to roll them over onto their sides. 

Steve sighed blissfully and idly ran his hands up and down Tony’s thigh, still fixated on the stockings. Tony snuggled back against him and Steve growled low in his throat as his cock twitched. 

“Good work, big guy. We’ve definitely got to do this again in the morning before you go back home.”

Steve froze, stared down at Tony in confusion. “ _Before I go back home?_ I’m not going anywhere—I’ve still got to deal with Stane!”

Tony stared at him dumbly. “My _godfather?_ You’re not getting anywhere near Obie, what the hell? You get a good time and head out the door, buddy! Why do you think I let you fuck me!?”

“Did you think you could bribe a federal official with _sex_?”

Tony sneered, “Oh, _please,_ like you feds don’t eat it up like candy.”

“Let me rephrase— _I_ will not be bribed by sex.”

“I don’t fucking believe this. Get off me!” 

Steve took in Tony’s rapidly darkening expression, then at his own dick buried firmly in Tony’s ass and his knot still in place. 

“Sorry, that might be a while, honey.”

Steve was Alpha enough to admit he should’ve seen the elbow coming that Tony rammed backward into his chin. 

**Author's Note:**

> We're always hanging out on [Discord](https://discord.gg/z5WSqbS/)! Come say hi!
> 
> We're also on tumblr: tig [here](http://athletiger.tumblr.com/), fire [here](https://firelightmystic.tumblr.com/). :)


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